New Life
by Muenblack
Summary: Nineteen years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Ron received a call from the Hogwarts headmaster about unidentified dark magic that left a man who shouldn't be alive unconscious and without his memory. Young!Snape and Hogwarts student OCs, plus Harry and Ron as aurors.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Wow, this story has gained more attention than any of my previous fics, and I'm just amazed! Those of you who were here when it began saw a different version of the first few chapters. They have since been revised, cut, lengthened, and, hopefully, they're much better now!_

 _To any newcomers, hello! I hope you stick around for this adventure, as I plan to make it a long one._

 _And a quick note about canon vs made-up. Most of this story should fit with what we know about the canon universe, but there are a few differences. Namely these are: McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey (whose character is briefly mentioned first by McGonagall. She is not the same Pomfrey as in the Harry Potter books), and of course, Snape. Besides those few exceptions, I have tried to stick to canon information, filling in the holes where I have to._

 _Alright, alright, enough talk. Enjoy!_

 **Chapter 1: School**

It wasn't everyday Harry Potter got to visit his old school, even if it was strictly on business. Hogwarts held so many memories, both good and bad, and each revisit awakened these memories, replaying snippets of the past in the wizard's mind as he saw the old castle in the present, the atmosphere changed for the better since the war. There had been no basilisks, no three-headed dogs, no dragons, and very few dark wizards and witches. Harry found it easy to relive the good memories of those rare times when he attended and nothing of consequence was occurring.

The feeling of calm his memories brought usually ended in a rude interruption, though. When he was called to Hogwarts, it usually meant trouble brewed. As an auror, and head of the aurors at that, most of the messages he received were calls for help in time of dire need, rarely were they party invitations or friendly letters. Even though Voldemort's days were nothing more than a chapter in the history books, dark magic was still cast by dark wizards, and it was Harry's job to make sure someone in his department took care of the matter. This time, he had about a minute after arriving via the floo network before his bubble of happy memories was popped.

"Blimey, I just sent my Rose here not a week ago," Ron muttered, looking around at the familiar hallways after he emerged from the green smoke of the floo, "You think it's safe after all?" He remembered all too clearly the many terrifyingly brilliant adventures he had with Harry years ago. Not to mention, the Battle of Hogwarts nineteen years ago, a day he could never forget.

Harry smiled, also remembering the old days, although blocking out the painful Battle. "C'mon, mate, it's not like Dumbledore runs the place anymore. McGonagall runs much tighter security these days."

"Bloody hell, she's still alive, is she?" Ron said, widening his eyes.

"Mr. Weasley," an all-too familiar voice said from behind, causing the two men to spin around and face the witch they had been talking about, "She is not only still alive, but still astounded to how it is you manage to begin every sentence with a curse. And not even a magical curse, at that."

Minerva McGonagall stood just as imposing as she always had in front of Harry and Ron. Even though Ron at least had grown taller than her, she presented herself with an air of authority that sent Ron back into the frightened, apologetic student he had once been. She wore black robes detailed with silver, her half-circle spectacles sitting at the end of her nose. Despite the almost twenty years since Harry and Ron had seen her, she seemed not to have aged in the slightest.

"Good morning, Prof- err, Headmistress McGonagall," Harry said, covering up for Ron's slack-jawed face. At least one of the men ought to have his wits about him, he figured.

"I'm not entirely certain this morning qualifies as good, Mr. Potter," McGonagall replied with a heavy sigh, "Strange, perhaps, or extraordinary. Come, I imagine you're on your way to Madame Pomfrey's, are you not?"

Ron raised an eyebrow at that. "She's still here, too?"

"No, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall corrected, leading the way towards the medi-witch's quarters, "Madame Pomfrey is the niece of the woman you remember seeing at least once a year for all your injuries. However, that's hardly the concern at the moment."

Harry nodded. "You're right, of course. Professor McGonagall, your message seemed very urgent. What, exactly, happened?" The message she had owled to the aurors had been vague, but pressing, informing them that a matter of utmost importance and interest to the Auror Department had arisen. She had left out all the details, however.

To both aurors' surprise, she hesitated, searching for the words rather than having her usual quick reply at the ready. "It's… quite the matter," she started, her swift pace slowing slightly, "We had an incident of unknown, suspected dark magic that rendered the victim completely unconscious. The victim was found this morning by a young Hufflepuff student on his way to breakfast. He has not responded to any of Madame Pomfrey's treatments, nor has he awaken on his own."

Going into full auror mode, Harry considered this information, finding it strange that McGonagall referred to the affected wizard as only "the victim," then asked, "Was the, err, victim a student as well?"

They reached the doors to the infirmary and McGonagall shook her head. "Mr. Potter, I must warn you that seeing who this magic affected will be a bit of a shock." She pushed open the doors and led the two men to a bed surrounded by privacy curtains. Not another word was spoken between them until they reached the bed.

"This is him," McGonagall said, reaching out her hand and gently pulling aside one of the bed curtains. She refused to look at the patient, instead staring ahead out the thickly-paned window, but both Ron and Harry eagerly scanned the bed. They quickly paled.

Ron stared at the man, unable to look away. "Blimey, it can't be…"

Harry had to take a step back and sit down on the empty bed next to the only patient in the infirmary wing. He cradled his head in his hands as he bent over, elbows braced on his thighs. "This has to be some kind of sick joke," he grumbled, closing his eyes for a moment before mentally bracing himself to look again at the familiar face.

Severus Snape was the man lying in the bed. Severus Snape, the double agent who ultimately proved his loyalty to Harry, or at least to Harry's mother. The secretive man whose memories were given to show Harry his true nature, the man who died in the Battle of Hogwarts after years of faking loyalty to one of the darkest wizards who had ever lived, this man was lying peacefully, his face more serene than any one of them had ever seen it, in the Hogwarts infirmary.

"Joke or not, Mr. Potter, it is perhaps the most impressive display of magic I have ever seen," McGonagall stated.

A few hours later, Ron and Harry sat in the headmistress's office with McGonagall, talking over everything they had since discovered. Harry had cast all the revealing spells he knew on the man who appeared to be his former potions professor. And all he had to show for it was a whole lot of negatives.

Polyjuice potion was ruled out first, because everyone knew the Snape had died nineteen years ago, and polyjuice wouldn't work if the subject was dead. Their next test was to rule out transfiguration, which for a skilled witch or wizard, could also imitate the appearance of another person. There had been no trace of any transfiguration spells. As for the reason to why the man was knocked completely unconscious, Harry couldn't find any traces of known spells. All he did find were traces of an unknown curse that slightly resembled a heat charm, and another trace of some sort of age magic. That one had easily been the biggest surprise. There had also been faint traces of some sort of memory impairment magic, but that was in such small amounts that Harry and Ron passed it off as quite unimportant.

"Right," Ron said, repeating the facts for what had to be the twentieth time, "So someone decided to fry him, but it didn't leave any visible traces of damage, then cast an age spell that didn't age him, then maybe, only maybe, did something to his memory. He's gotta be Snape's evil twin. Or maybe his good one. And he just happened to end up in the middle of Hogwarts. Right, makes perfect sense."

Harry paced the floor, frowning. "There's got to be something we missed. You were right, professor, the magic registered as dark magic, but nothing we've ever come across before. There's just… Something's missing. That Hufflepuff that found him, you're sure he didn't see anything?"

McGonagall replied, "By the time he found our unconscious man, the deed was done. If you wanted to talk to him, however, I'm sure it would not be a problem to summon him."

Harry shook his head. "I hate to do that, the poor boy's probably been through enough-"

Ron snorted, "Imagine the terror of seeing Snape first thing in the morning," he muttered.

"-but if we really can't come up anything more, we'll have to ask him for any and every little detail of how he discovered Snape, or whoever it is we saw."

McGonagall nodded. "Just let me know, Mr. Potter. In the meantime, however, I am going to have to continue my check and reevaluation of the castle's wards. I will not have a repeat of this incident. You two, of course, have free reign of the castle for your investigation. Just please… try not to cause too much trouble." She raised herself gracefully out of her chair and glided out of the room, nodding at the phoenix chick that had returned to its previous master's old office. Fawkes, although technically a free phoenix, had made Hogwarts its home, and between burnings, watched over the castle's new headmistress from his perch in the office.

Ron looked at Harry for direction. Harry ran a hand through his dark hair, the faint scar on his forehead displayed for the moment before his hair fell back into place. "I dunno, Ron, maybe we should have a look at where he was found. McGonagall said it was right outside the potions room…"

"Didn't they already clean everything up, though?" Ron asked doubtfully.

Harry nodded and let out a small frustrated sigh. "Yeah, but maybe there's some evidence there. Doubt any trace of the spell remains, not underneath all of Hogwarts enchantments, but I suppose it's worth a shot." They had both experienced situations like this before, where the surrounding magic covered the spells they were looking for so well that it was like they weren't even there. Often, old family manors had that problem due to centuries of renewed protection magic. It sort of encased the dark magic the aurors looked for so that it was very difficult, if not impossible, to detect. Old manors were bad enough, Hogwarts presented an entirely new level of difficulty.

After failing to uncover anything new at the site of the crime, Harry and Ron returned to McGonagall's office. She seemed to be expecting them, and motioned for them to make themselves comfortable.

"We didn't find anything," Ron sighed.

The headmistress nodded. "I suspected as much. We couldn't find much besides the body this morning, unfortunately."

Harry stood next to Fawkes, admiring the little gray chick flecked with red and orange. He must have undergone a burning just the night before. The auror turned his attention back to the witch and wizard. "You said a Hufflepuff boy found Snape?"

"That is correct," McGonagall said, "A first year, actually, by the name of Tobias Rivers. He should be joining us shortly to talk to the two of you. You did wish to interview him, of course?"

"Right," Harry agreed, "Absolutely. How did you know?"

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, "Believe it or not, this is not my first time dealing with aurors. I have picked up a few things about how your department works."

"Oh, err… right," Harry said, "Thank you, professor."

A grinding noise started up, signaling the movement of the gargoyle that guarded the headmistress's office. In a few moments, a young boy slunk into the room, hands deep in his trouser pockets. He looked around nervously, but with wonder.

"Welcome, Mr. Rivers," McGonagall greeted. The boy jumped at his name, earning a squawk from the little phoenix chick perched in the office. "These men are aurors, Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Ron Weasley. And this is Mr. Tobias Rivers. Mr. Rivers, these men have a few questions-"

Tobias's mouth dropped as he snapped his head to look at Harry. "Me mum told me all about how you saved the world! Blimey, I'm in the same room as Harry Potter!" he exclaimed.

Harry shuffled uncomfortably, having still not come to terms with his fame. At least in recent years, most of the wizarding community had finally stopped calling him The Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One.

Ron rolled his eyes while McGonagall did her best not to do the same. "Yes, well, I'm sure it will make a wonderful story to write home about, Mr. Rivers, however right now, these men are more interested in your own story."

"My story?" Tobias squeaked.

"Professor, do you mind if we all have a sit and talk?" Harry asked, noting how nervous the Hufflepuff student looked. He had long ago learned that people were far less likely to give useful information if they were too busy being uncomfortable.

"Of course, Mr. Potter." She conjured up a grand oak table and some comfortable-looking oak chairs, enough for each of them to sit.

They each took a chair, McGonagall at the head of the table. The two aurors took one side, with Harry sitting across from Tobias. Ron took out a notebook while Harry smiled kindly at the students, doing his best to look friendly and trustworthy.

"Alright, so you're Tobias," Harry affirmed, looking at the boy.

Tobias nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Right," Harry continued, "And did I hear that you just came from Neville's class? Err… Sorry, I suppose he's Professor Longbottom these days." He was doing his best to get the Hufflepuff to relax, so as to have a friendly conversation rather than an interrogation. Harry preferred to avoid the unpleasantness of interrogations.

Tobias nodded once more. He opened his mouth to say something, but then clamped it shut, deciding it was not important enough for the likes of Harry Potter.

This didn't hinder Harry in the least. "I remember going to school with him. Watched this bloke's wife petrify him one night." He gestured to Ron, who wore a mischievous grin, and laughed. "'Course that was before he led Dumbledore's Army into the Battle of Hogwarts. Still, I'll never forget the look on his face as Hermione did it." He burst into laughter again.

Tobias's eyes were wide. "Professor Longbottom was petrified?"

Ron snorted. "It was almost an initiation rite to be hit by some spell like that in our day. He got over it pretty quickly."

"Right," Harry said with a nod, "Unlike the wizard you found this morning outside of the potions room." It was time to transition into the questioning portion of the conversation.

"Although how you ended up by the potions room on your way to breakfast is beyond me," Ron added.

"I got lost," Tobias admitted.

Remembering his first few days and school and deciding that was nothing to be ashamed of, Harry nodded and continued. "What we need to know is every detail you remember from this morning. Is there anything you haven't told McGonagall?"

The boy thought for a moment, picking nervously at his nails. "I don't think so. It happened kind of fast… I don't remember everything, I'm sorry." He bit his lip uncomfortably, raking his scant memories for anything else to tell them.

Harry offered up a smile. "No need to apologize. You've already provided us with the best information we have."

"So, Tobias, the next step," McGonagall jumped in, "Is to ask you for your memory directly. I do have a pensieve here in my office. You are familiar with how a pensieve works, are you not?"

Tobias nodded. "Me mum has one. She let me use it once."

"Good," Harry said, "If you'll consent to it, then, we would like to take a look at your memory."

With a moment of quiet consideration, Tobias nodded. "Okay. You can have it."

Harry took out his wand and gently touched Tobias's temple with it. "For the record, we'll only be making a copy. You keep the original in your mind." He mouthed the words for the spell, but did not say them out loud, then slowly waved his wand away from Tobias's head, a blue-ish white smoke connecting the wand to Tobias's temple. It wrapped around the wand in delicate loops. Ron, who had a vial at the ready as soon as Harry took his wand out, held out the glass container to catch the memory from Harry's wand. It completely disconnected from Tobias's head, continuing to coil around Harry's wand, then floated into the vial.

"Thank you," Harry said with a smile, trying not to look too eager to use the memory he had just collected. The sooner the mystery was solved, the happier he would be.

McGonagall stood up. "I'll bring out the pensieve then. Mr. Rivers, you may be excused. If you can think of anything else, please do not hesitate to let us know. And don't forget to visit Madame Pomfrey or me if you need anything."

The Hufflepuff stood up and left, glancing back at the famous Harry Potter once more. It wouldn't be long before all of Hufflepuff knew that Harry Potter, THE Harry Potter, was in the castle.

Harry plunged into the memory first, followed closely by Ron. They found themselves next to the boy they had just met, a lanky first-year with dark hair. This version looked more tired than the one they had met in person, squinting sleepily through dark blue eyes. He had just walked out of the Hufflepuff dormitory and stood looking around the corridors with a look of mildly annoyed confusion. To one side, Harry and Ron could see the entrance to the kitchens, but Tobias didn't seem to notice.

"Great Hall should be that way," Ron said, pointing in the direction that the student did not go, "But I suppose that way would make more sense to get to the potions room…"

Harry smiled, but remained focused on his surroundings as he followed the memory version of the student they met. The halls were quiet, bar the sound of Tobias's footsteps, and empty. They followed the boy down the hall as he wandered through the castle, taking turns at random.

"He turns left here to get to the potions room," Harry whispered, "Look for anything unusual."

Ron nearly told him off, knowing his way around pensieves well enough since becoming an auror. It certainly wasn't his first trip back into someone's memory. But he knew his friend well enough to know that he was used to telling people what to do, and half the time, Harry did it as a reminder to himself as well.

Tobias rounded the corner and froze midstep. Harry and Ron were right next to him, equally as still. Slumped on the ground was a body clothed in black robes. Around him, for just a split second, a light aura of energy flashed orange, too quick to tell for sure if it was there or not.

Apparently catching his breath and becoming unfrozen, Tobias screamed at the top of his lungs, a high pitched child's scream. Ron wrinkled up his nose in disgust at the sound, but Harry ignored it, peering closely at the man who looked like Snape.

He looked old. Really old. Harry had remembered him looking old back from his own days in school, but this Snape looked positively elderly. His hair, although still long and greasy, was streaked with gray. The lines on his face had multiplied, with sagging skin and wrinkles mapping their way across his facial features.

"Ron," Harry said, grateful Tobias's scream had been short, although loud, "Does Snape look… older?"

McGonagall, the memory form of her, rounded the corner and gasped at the man on the floor. She didn't stare long, however, instead placed a gentle hand on Tobias's shoulder, gesturing for him to turn away from the sight. He quivered, but held back any frightened whimpering.

"Blimey, Harry, he doesn't just look older. He looks like he was hit with an aging spell and left to rot," Ron replied as McGonagall sent her patronus off in the direction of the infirmary, then escorted Tobias towards her office, doing her best to comfort the young boy on the way.

The memory ended as they reached the headmistress's office, colors swirling into the pool of blue of the pensieve. The aurors stood up and, with a single look at each other, hurried away towards the infirmary. It was time to give Snape another visit.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Another revised chapter here. Yes, I did omit one of my OCs and combined the original two into one who is now of much less importance to the story. I like it better and I hope you do, too!_

 **Chapter 2: Records**

Madame Carina Pomfrey met them at the door, wringing her hands. She looked almost exactly like her aunt had twenty years ago, but had a far more nervous demeanor. A look of pure panic showed on her face.

"Harry Potter, Ron Weasley," she cried when they approached, "Thank Merlin you're here!"

Harry took her hand, which shook violently in his. "Of course, it's our job. What happened?"

"It's my patient," she whispered, going pale, "He's been replaced!"

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance, then sprang into action. Harry gently brought a very pale Madame Pomfrey over to a wooden seat that he quickly transfigured from the plant that had stood outside the doors moments before. He then followed Ron, who had burst into the infirmary with his wand at the ready. The one occupied bed had its privacy curtains pulled back, but not enough to reveal what lay inside on the bed.

Ron nodded at Harry, then rushed the open side of the bed. Harry slid around the back of the bed and opened it from that hand. They both pointed their wands at the shape under the sheets, then gasped.

It was Snape. But it couldn't have been Snape. The wizard who lay on the bed looked to be the same age as Harry's middle child, and Ron's oldest. He looked like a first year student at Hogwarts, not the middle-aged man they had left in the infirmary, and certainly not like the elder wizard they had seen in the memory.

But at the same time, it had to be the same man. The black robes he had been wearing now formed a pool of fabric around him. He was young, yes, but he had the same greasy black hair, and the face that Harry recognized from watching Snape's memories during the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Keep your wand on him," Harry instructed as he used his own to retest for traces of magic. He got the same levels of heat magic as before, but the age magic had increased dramatically.

"Well?" Ron asked, doing as he was told.

Harry shook his head, "It almost seems like the spell was cast awhile ago, but suddenly took effect. I mean, we had traces of age magic before, but this is off the charts. Ron, he's been aged backwards, and I don't know if it can be undone."

Ron motioned for Harry to be at the ready when he pulled his wand away, then flicked his wand and murmured a bit of Latin, casting a name detection charm. He looked down at his wand and turned a pasty shade of white.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Ron turned his wand towards Harry. On the wood, a name was temporarily engraved, the golden lines etched into the wand slowly fading as the short charm wore off. The spell was meant to do nothing more than give the wand-holder an identity of whomever they were pointing at.

"Severus Snape," Harry whispered, a lump forming in his throat as he looked at the boy on the bed.

"But that's not possible," Ron squeaked.

They both stared down at the peaceful face of Madame Pomfrey's mysterious patient. He breathed easily, a single strand of long black hair twitching over his nostril when he exhaled. His hands crossed over his stomach where Madame Pomfrey had placed them, as she did with any unconscious patient, and his robes swallowed up his figure so only the tips of his fingers poked out. Besides the even flow of air into and out of his lungs, he made no movements, and hadn't since Stephen had found him.

"Get McGonagall," Harry instructed, pocketing his wand when he realized the boy posed no physical danger. Psychological, perhaps. Harry's mind spun with the impossibility of Severus Snape lying on a bed in his childhood form nineteen years after his death. But the impossible boy in front of him was no physical threat.

Ron nodded, hurrying out of the infirmary in search of the headmistress. Harry continued using detection charms in attempts to figure out just what happened to the Severus Snape in front of him. He was disappointed, although not surprised, when all the results came up negative. Before too long, McGonagall burst into the infirmary doors and glided over to the occupied bed, placing her hand over her mouth, looking more shocked than Harry had ever seen her. Ron was nowhere in sight, presumably still wandering the castle looking for the woman who had somehow known she was needed without anyone ever telling her.

"Professor McGonagall," Harry said, the young Severus in between them, "Is there anything you can think of that would fool a name detection charm? Anything at all?"

The headmistress said nothing for a moment, only stared wide-eyed at the bed. Then, she moved her gaze to Harry. "I apologize, Mr. Potter, but that charm is connected to the birth records of over four thousand wizarding and muggle communities whose copies are housed in the Ministry's Administrative Registration Department. It is a strong and impenetrable charm."

"Right, Professor, but do you think it would be possible that someone tampered with the records? Or… Or maybe there's been another wizard named Severus Snape more recently?" Harry mused, looking for McGonagall's approval much as he had in his days as a Hogwarts student.

"Perhaps, another wizard. That theory may well prove true, although the striking similarities… Alas, that seems the only viable solution. The records are guarded very well, not only by witches and wizards, which, Mr. Potter, you and I both know to be less than reliable, but with a plethora of spells, both ancient and new," she explained.

This information did not surprise Harry. He had toured the ministry a few times before, and remembered hearing about the records department. Not only did the department have such enchantments, but they routinely employed crafty witches and wizards to come up with ways to get past the enchantments so they could come up with stronger methods. No one had been able to even scratch the enchantments, much less break them enough to change records, in over fifty years.

Still, Harry had enough distrust of the faith the wizarding world set in their magic to make a mental note of looking into the records for himself. It wouldn't be the first time the Ministry overlooked a detail that led to catastrophic events.

After having to use a tracking spell to find his partner within the castle, Harry disapparated to one of the entrances to the Ministry of Magic, leaving Hogwarts with a loud pop. Just a moment later, Ron joined him, instinctively raising a hand to his eyebrows to be sure they were still there. One time of leaving an eyebrow behind proved to be more than enough for an embarrassed Ron.

"Right, so what are we doing here again, Harry?" Ron asked, following his friend into the men's bathroom. He wrinkled his nose as he approached the bathroom stall and grumbled, "Can't believe the leaders of the wizarding world haven't come up with a better way to get in yet."

Harry chuckled. "I always figured they just had better things to do than redesign an entrance, but after seeing some of their work ethics, I'm not sure what their excuse is. Come on, Ron, we're headed for the Administrative Registration Department. I'll explain on the other side." He stepped into the toilet bowl, grateful once again for the water repellent charm that was constantly in use. Then, he flushed the toilet, feeling a brief moment of spinning before he found himself in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic, dry and clean, but smelling faintly of bathroom cleaning supplies.

"Blimey, that always makes me nauseous," Ron said as he followed Harry towards the elevator.

"Take it up with Transportation," Harry suggested.

To that, Ron simply snorted. The last time he had talked to the Ministry's Transportation desk, he had waited three hours in a waiting room, taken two trips on the floo network, spent two frustrating hours trying to fill out a complaint form with an enchanted quill that changed his words to a different meaning, then gave up jumping through their hoops and simply went home where Hermione waited to hear the results of his trip. He convinced himself that the Transportation desk remained in the Ministry only for show. What other purpose could it possibly serve? It certainly didn't do anything useful.

By some stroke of luck, Harry and Ron got the elevator to themselves. Harry pushed the button that simply said "R", and the two felt the slight shift in gravity that meant the elevator started them on their way.

Harry recalled the conversation he had with McGonagall, filling Ron in on what he suspected about the official name records. "So, we just have to go in, make sure the records haven't been tampered with, and prove once and for all that the boy in the infirmary is just another wizard named Severus Snape." He couldn't help a bit of sarcasm creeping in his voice at the end of his statement.

"But Harry, what about how he got young?" Ron asked, "And that spell, whatever it was… How's this gonna help figure that all out?"

"One thing at a time," Harry said as the elevator dinged and stopped moving. He stepped out the door as soon as it opened, followed by his fellow auror. Really, doing one thing at a time was the only way Harry could think to even make a dent in the case.

The dark corridor, although wide, seemed small and empty. Not a person could be seen, only a deserted desk at the end of the hall. The carpet beneath their feet was worn and dull from layers of dust. In the streams of weak light from the occasional lantern on the wall, little flecks of dust floated calmly, disturbed only when Harry and Ron swept past.

"This is right creepy," Ron commented.

Harry smirked. "Wonder how many spiders are around."

"Blimey, Harry, that's not funny!" Ron squeaked. He whipped out his wand and whispered, "Arachnon." His wand sparked blue for a moment, then faded. It was a spell Hermione had found, one that banished all spiders and spider-like creatures at least twenty feet away from the caster for a time. It usually worked for an hour, depending on the caster. For Ron, it lasted at least two, not because of his magic level, but due to his intense hatred for the beasts.

They reached the desk and paused. Beyond were aisles and aisles of file cabinets, sitting cold and gloomy like a frozen metal army. To either side as far as they could see, the metal rectangles went on in neat rows, a never ending database of information.

"Hullo?" Harry called out. His voice echoed back, mixed with a faint rustling noise, as if someone was sorting through papers. But no one answered his call.

Ron huffed. "I hate the Ministry sometimes. Who leaves their department unattended?"

Harry shook his head. "I dunno, Ron. Suppose we just go ahead and look for what we came for?" He pulled his wand out of his pocket.

"S'pose we might as well," Ron agreed.

Taking one last look around, Harry shrugged and called out, "Accio!" He waited a moment. Nothing happened.

"Accio!" Ron tried, irritation seeping into his voice.

This time, the sound of metal sliding on metal, like a drawer opening, reverberated around the room. Then, it sounded again. It happened more and more until the room filled with metal sliding and clanging, deafening the two wizards as they covered their ears with their hands and bent over in pain.

Without warning, the cacophony of file cabinets stopped, leaving an overwhelming silence. Ears ringing, Harry straightened up, looking around. Immediately, he tapped Ron's shoulder. When Ron followed suit, he noticed a tall man in dark robes standing in front of them, his wand out and still pointed at the now calm file cabinets. He turned towards them, his sharply pointed nose flaring in barely suppressed anger. He narrowed his already thin green eyes.

"Hello," Harry said, oblivious to the man's irritation, "We didn't think anyone was down here."

The man glared. "Yeah, well, maybe if you bell-ends wouldn't banish the staff away with some childish charm, someone could have been here. Randall Homsut, Administrative Registration Department," he said coldly, not bothering to offer a handshake.

"Banished?" Harry repeated, "But we didn't use a banishing charm-"

"I'M A RUDDY ANIMAGUS, YOU BERK!"

Harry glanced at Ron, whose eyes had gotten very, very wide. "Blimey," he muttered, "I didn't think people had spider animaguses…"

"Animagi," the man corrected with a snarl, "And maybe you should try the whole thinking thing every once in a while, gingy."

Taking a half step forward, both to protect Ron and to stop him from retaliating, Harry cleared his throat and said softly, "We are very sorry, Mr. Homsut. It was stupid of us to do, and I apologize."

Ron bristled behind him, but the apology seemed to have the intended effect on Randall. He nodded and his face softened a bit, but only a bit. His body language went from offensive to only mildly challenging, which was enough improvement for Harry.

"Well, let the daft be dumb, I suppose," Randall said with a sneer, "What are you lot doing down here, anyway. No one visits the Administrative Registration Department except the interns, and they bring coffee. You don't have any coffee."

"No, we don't," Harry agreed, "I'm Harry Potter and this is Ron Weasley, Aurors. We're involved in a case currently that involves a man who carries a name he shouldn't. We need to see if either there is another wizard with the same name in the records, or if there's a possibility that the records have been tampered with."

Randall scoffed. "I can assure you that no wizard can penetrate the defenses of the Administrative Registration Department!"

"Bet I know a witch who could," Ron muttered, luckily only loud enough for Harry to hear.

"Sorry," Harry said with a shrug, "We're required to investigate all possibilities, no matter how unlikely. It's nothing against your department."

With an angry huff, Randall motioned for them to follow him to the one lone desk. He dug in the stack of papers, sending sheets flying, and after a time, presented the aurors with an old scroll. He set it in front of them.

"This," Randall said, "Is the Request Scroll. Write your names and the name of the wizard whose records you want to access. I have to sign it off, mind you, before you can look at it. If more than one wizard has the name, you'll receive all the files, so I suggest using a middle name if you can."

Harry nodded and picked up the nearby quill, a dusty thing with barely any feather left to decay. After writing the first name, he paused and looked at Ron, who had his arms crossed and was staring sulkily at Randall. "Do you know his middle name?"

Ron shook his head. "Not like I liked the bloke."

"Right," Harry said, and wrote the rest of the name, then added their names to the middle column. He passed the scroll back to Randall, who looked briefly at the names, then signed his own at the far right of the page. As soon as he had done that, a large envelope flew towards the desk and settled gently in front of Harry.

"There you go," Randall grunted, turning to leave, "Enjoy."

"Wait," Harry said, "Would it be possible to get a list of enchantments used to protect these documents. We're going to need to go over them if this doesn't give us our answer."

Randall raised half his lip in a sneer. "As you wish, almighty auror." He stalked off, presumably to either find or conjure that list.

Ron had already opened the envelope and pulled the papers out. There were four or five of them, each with the headline of "Severus Snape." The aurors skimmed through the pages, one on genealogy of the Snape family, one birth certificate, one wizard certificate (dated on the day Snape had his first recorded accidental magic), a death certificate, and a document that detailed his visits to the Ministry.

"Looks like there's only one Snape," Ron said, "So it's gotta be a problem with the protective enchantments."

"Right," Harry agreed, holding the last document in his hand. He read through the last few Ministry visits. The last one should have been Snape's dead body, sent in for inspection to see what effect being killed by a horcrux, a little-understood magic, had on a wizard. That visit, although recorded, was not his last visit to the Ministry. One more was listed:

 _"September 1, 2017; 3:13 AM. Department of Mysteries, Death Chamber. Received by: N.A. Duration: 1:09:54."_

 _A/N: Technical note: It has been brought to my attention the unlikelihood that only one Severus Snape has ever existed. That's not at all what is happening here. The records only show witches, wizards, and squibs because we all know the Ministry doesn't care all that much about muggles. There's a department for that. So the records do not contain any muggles who might have had the same name. Okay, so that still leaves a lot of wizards in history of forever, right? Right. But here, I assumed that the wizarding records are much like our historical records in that they are not well-kept until "modern age" unless the historical figure was highly important. So that means there are perhaps three hundred years of good records, which could be five or six generations, plus the very important wizards in history that have been remembered. These numbers are, of course, just a guess on my part, but my logic with them is that in those six generations, it is not all that surprising that there was only one of the fairly uncommon name Severus Snape._

 _I love plugging up holes in the plot, so please, feel free to send critique on something that may or may not seem right to you. There might be a logical answer behind my reasoning, or perhaps you're right and I missed something._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Revised again! I'm sorry this is such a slow start, I promise Snape will make his grand appearance as more than a vegetable soon!_

 _Thank you so much to everyone involved in this story, whether you follow, favorite, review, or just read. Thank you! I love looking at the stats and seeing that people are actually reading my writing! It's amazing and I'm so grateful!_

 **Chapter 3: Night**

Returning from the Ministry of Magic, the aurors hunkered down in McGonagall's office to go through the list of enchantments protecting the records department. They sat down and pored over the list, looking for possible openings that could explain the Severus Snape in the infirmary. After going through it three times, the two aurors decided to call it a night. As far as they could tell, there were no loopholes, nothing within their knowledge could break through the enchantments.

"Maybe I can ask 'Mione if we missed anything," Ron said with a yawn, "She loves this kind of crap."

McGonagall escorted Harry and Ron back to the infirmary where Madame Pomfrey waited. It had been agreed that until the safety of Hogwarts could be confirmed, the aurors were to spend their nights in the castle, sleeping in the infirmary with the newest, and only, patient. The men were all set to spend the night in Hogwarts for the first time in their adult lives.

Settling into their temporary beds, Ron and Harry whispered to each other in the dark.

"I feel like I'm back in school," Ron said, laughing quietly.

Harry rolled over in his bed to face his friend. "I know. Having McGonagall lead us around and sleeping in these little beds again… Feels like we should be getting ready to beg Hermione to let us borrow her homework."

"Oh no, Hermione!" Ron sputtered, kicking off his sheets, "I forgot to tell her I wouldn't be home tonight! She'll kill me!"

"Relax, Ron, I owled her and Ginny earlier. They both know."

Flopping back down on the bed, Ron sighed. "Thanks, mate. Really saved me there. I know aurors aren't supposed to be afraid of anything, but you've seen Hermione when she's mad… Bloody scary, she is."

Harry chuckled. "Your sister's not much better."

"At least Ginny doesn't go completely mental."

Silence reigned in the infirmary as both men turned their thoughts to their respective wives. Only slow breaths broke the quiet, breaths of the three in that room. Harry felt his eyes close against his will as sleep fought to take over. But Ron interrupted the process.

"It's weird, though, isn't it," Ron mused, "Having to sleep in the same room as Snape, of all people. What if he wakes up and murders us in our sleep, Harry?"

"Ron, he's got charms all around his bed. If he so much as puts a foot on the floor, we'll know. Besides, he wouldn't try to murder us. He's more likely to tell us to shut up and turn in our homework," Harry replied, yawning as he finished.

"Yeah… you're right."

Harry closed his eyes once again, feeling for the embrace of a good night's rest.

"Harry?" Ron said after a moment.

Harry mentally growled, but managed a friendly "hmm?"

"What do you think will happen if we can't figure this out?" Ron asked.

"We'll figure it out," Harry assured him, mumbling through his words.

"Yeah, but what if-"

"Goodnight, Ron." Harry really just wanted to go to sleep. He was far too tired to deal with his friend's worries.

Ron sighed. "Goodnight, Harry." Blessedly, he remained quiet and Harry finally drifted off to sleep.

 _Darkness. Darkness for almost as long as he could remember. And with the darkness, fear. There was fear here, too, although this darkness seemed different. For the first time in a while, not all of his senses were numb. Darkness still ruled, yes, keeping his eyes seeing only black like the void, but the sounds were not of the void. The void he could remember had no sounds. Here… there was a soft throbbing. And whispering whistles every so often._

 _And he could feel warmth. His body had been lacking the warmth for so long that it burned. He felt like an ice cube in the sun, if the ice cube wasn't allowed to melt. Melting would have been a relief, but his body held its solid form, burning up in the darkness._

 _The smells assaulted him next, as he lay in agony against the heat. He didn't think his nose worked anymore, but these scents proved him wrong. Intoxicating spices, musty sweat, sweet flowers, bitter berries, aged cloth, old broomsticks. All the smells fought for attention, swirling in a stampede that overwhelmed his senses. It had been better when his nasal cavities were deserted, every sense as blind as his vision._

 _He tried to move. Felt his muscles burning in the newfound heat and latched onto the sensation, the feeling of having muscles. He tried stretching them, tried coordinating them, tried flailing them wildly, but nothing responded. Instinct took over and he felt an expanding bubble of screams build up in his throat. But his mouth wouldn't open to let them out. His body wouldn't even let him release the meekest whimper._

 _Fragmented thoughts raced through his mind. Blind. Dark. Hot. Move. Die. Death. Death… Was this what death felt like?_

 _Searching his memories for any information, he tried to think. Had he died? But his mind responded like a glass wall; he could see everything from afar, but it was out of reach and blurred. A light dimmed by a shadow, quick movements, a sharp pain. If he was dead, was that how it happened?_

 _But no, death was supposed to stop the pain, and the fire still burned his body, a never-ending ache. The locked up screams threatened to tear him apart, it seemed. He couldn't bear the pain much longer, but he also couldn't escape._

 _Finally, his body responded, his eyes flew open, his lips stretched apart, and he let out all the pain in the form of a guttural scream._

Ron jumped up as screams assaulted his ears, instinctively leaping over to Harry's bed, where he assumed he would find a terrified friend waking from nightmares. None of them were any strangers to nightmares. Ron had woken up nightly for years to the sound of screams, sometimes his own, sometimes Hermione's. Having fallen asleep reminded of his Hogwarts days, he was brought back to the nights where Harry would wake with nightmares as well.

But Harry wasn't the one screaming.

Also wakened, Harry was staring across the infirmary at the only other occupied bed: the source of the noise. It subsided after far too long, but did eventually fade into a whimper, then to nothing at all. Glancing at Ron, Harry pointed his already drawn wand at the bed. Ron nodded and, with the hand he had clutched firmly in his hand, headed towards the bed. Harry caught up and the two crept to either side. They pulled back the curtains, wands pointed menacingly at the young boy's face.

But he had fallen back asleep, the scream nothing but an echo in the castle.

"Do we fetch Madame Pomfrey?" Ron asked.

As if she heard her name, the medi-witch rushed into the room, her own wand at the ready. "What on earth are you two clods doing to my patient?!" she hollered.

Harry and Ron raised their wands above their head. "We woke up to him screaming," Ron explained.

Pomfrey pushed Ron aside and peered down at Severus, inspecting him with her wand. She huffed, then turned away, pulling out potions from a closet. "He has a very high fever and must be in a lot of pain, the poor dear," she said, efficiently uncorking a bottle and bringing it over to the dark-haired boy. She sat him upright and gently poured some of it in his mouth, massaging his throat to ease it down without him choking.

"Is that what made him scream?" Harry asked.

Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes at the auror. "Well, I don't know, Harry, I haven't asked him. It could have been a number of things. Maybe he didn't like having wands pointed at his face."

"That wasn't until after-" Ron started, but was interrupted.

"Or maybe it was because he was hit with an unknown dark spell. But you know, I'm sure he's a danger, yes, let's point our wands at him every chance we get," Madame Pomfrey continued with a scowl, "Honestly, you two act as if a young boy like this is a threat worse than Voldemort."

Harry's eyes darkened, but he said nothing.

Madame Pomfrey sighed. "Oh, I'm sorry, that was a bit cruel… But please, treat my patient with a little more respect. He can't fight back in this state." She gave Severus the last of the potion, then lowered him back to the bed, smoothing his hair as she did so. Although, she looked as if she regretted that last part, rubbing her hand on her pants and muttering about shampoo as she turned to walk back to her room.

"Madame Pomfrey," Harry called quietly, "Are you okay?" He remembered her earlier breakdown.

She turned back to answer. "Nothing a few calming draughts can't take care of. Thank you, though, Mr. Potter." She sent a weak smile, then left the aurors alone with the boy once more.

"A few," Ron scoffed, "I think she's taken more than a few."

Harry smiled quickly, then looked back at the boy in front of him. His face had returned to its peaceful state, as if nothing had happened. He breathed softly, deep in whatever sleep had taken him. Whatever had caused the scream seemed to have completely left his system.

Shaken by the experience, Ron and Harry decided to take the rest of the nights in shifts, something neither of them had to do since they were hunting horcruxes. Harry took the first watch, lighting a lamp and settling in on an empty bed next to Severus's while Ron lay back down in bed.

Harry called a few books from the library with an accio spell, deciding to research aging spells in more depth. He thought perhaps it would aid in their investigation, although he really wasn't sure what would help the investigation at this point. The books floated towards him after a moment, slowing as they neared close enough for him to catch them and place them next to him on the otherwise empty bed.

"Yarns of Youth: Aging Charms for the Aging Charmers," Harry whispered to himself, rolling his eyes at the book titles, "Ridiculous."

He opened to the table of contents, skimming through various charm and potion names, none of which were new to him. None of them worked quite like whatever Severus was hit with. Still, he flipped through a few pages, skimming for potential side effects or mistakes in use that connected to the boy.

Nothing.

Glancing over to check on the sleeping patient, Harry set the book aside and opened a new one: Tales of Immortals. The leather-bound cover had an image of a muggle-stereotyped vampire engraved into it, a picture that tempted Harry to throw the book aside and disregard any information inside. He resisted, however, and flipped through the pages, a little disgruntled that the book didn't offer a table of contents. It contained information on vampires, elixir of life, unicorn blood, and a few failed stories of attempts to find a spell or create a potion that would stop death. Nothing really useful.

The next few books contained some spells for a quick superficial fix to make one look younger. Wrinkle removers, revitalization for bones and joints, and slimming charms were discussed, but nothing that would actually a person backwards. They, too, were cast aside.

By the time Ron woke up, Harry had exhausted his book resources and sat staring in frustration at the young Severus before him. His hair was sticking up from repeatedly running his hands through it, and his gaze was glazed over. He didn't hear Ron's cheery greeting.

"Oi, Harry," Ron said loudly, making the head of the auror department jump, "Why're there so many books in here? Blimey, it's like Hermione moved in."

Offering up a shadow of a smile, Harry replied, "Yeah, but if Hermione had moved in, we would have had more answers, not just a useless mess of books."

Ron picked one up. "History of Aging Backwards: A Summary of Potions and Spells," he read, grimacing, "Bloody hell, Harry, this looks worse than history class."

"Just about as exciting," Harry snorted, "None of these have anything we can use. Might have to get McGonagall to let us in the Restricted Section in the library, see if any of those books are useful."

Ron yawned. "Great, a day of research. Just what I wanted to hear."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: This chapter has been revised! With all these revisions, I have lost two chapters (although they were really just combined into other chapters). So, this fic looks shorter, but it's for the best._

 _Enjoy the chapter. Things are finally beginning to happen!_

 **Chapter 4: Wake**

While Harry and Ron perused the Restricted Section, Madame Pomfrey tended to her patient. Granted, he didn't really need much of her care, but it was still early in the year and surprisingly, no one else had come into the infirmary with injuries or illnesses. If only the year would remain as slow as it had begun for Carina Pomfrey. It was only a matter of time before the young boy was joined by accident-prone Hogwarts students with potions gone wrong, cuts, illnesses, and of course, explosions. Every year, at least one student managed to move their wand the wrong way or mix in too much of a potion ingredient and cause a large spark.

But Severus remained simple to take care of. He required a daily nourishment potion to keep his still body alive, and a fever-reducing spell. Since the screaming episode the night before, though, he didn't even need the fever-reducing spell. Carina Pomfrey was left with the easiest caretaking job she had ever experienced, and that was fine with her.

This morning, she did her usual temperature check, along with a reaffirming look at his vital signs with a quickly cast spell. Everything looked to be fine. As she sat him up to give him a nourishing potion, she wondered, and not for the first time, if his white pallor should be a cause of concern or if it was natural. The shoulder-length black hair certainly didn't make him look any less pale, but contrasted so that his face looked as fake as porcelain.

He didn't wake as she eased the potion into his mouth, then stroked his throat to get his sleeping body to swallow the liquid. He never woke to her care. Carina Pomfrey sighed as she put his head back down. He really should have gone to St. Mungo's, but McGonagall had been adamant in keeping the boy at Hogwarts until the aurors had finished their investigation. From what they told the medi-witch, the boy shouldn't even exist. Perhaps, she thought, McGonagall simply refused to give the Prophet more fodder for their ridiculous news stories.

Settling into her office, just an open door away from the infirmary, Carina picked up her novel and continued reading about the love life of a cursed werewolf and his happy-go-lucky witch. If only life were as simple as in the romance novels she loved so dearly.

Life, however, did not flow as easily as fiction, and it had no intention of giving Carina Pomfrey, who had already taken two calming draughts that morning, an easy time. Just as her book world sucked her imagination into its plot, an alarm sounded from the infirmary. Alarms in Madame Pomfrey's infirmary nearly always meant trouble because she set them up to alert her when a patient's condition changed. Each patient received different alerting spells, depending on their condition.

Severus only had three alarms set to him. One, the most important one, would blare like a muggle siren if his vital signs plummeted. Another squealed if anyone or anything outside of his own body threatened him. That one also sent a warning shock automatically to whatever it was that would harm him. The third she set to incessantly beep if he awakened from his apparent coma.

The third alarm, beeping nonstop, sounded. It was the alarm Carina Pomfrey both wanted and feared the most. With Severus's awakening, she could speak to her patient and send him further on his way to recovery, her goal as a medi-witch. But it also meant that the impossible boy, the one who should not exist, was far more real than a porcelain doll, and she had no idea what sort of monsters could await, dormant or fully aware, inside the boy who only the day before had been a full-grown man.

She supposed the time had arrived to find out.

Severus remained in his bed, propped up on one elbow as he blinked at his surroundings, searching for something familiar. A loud beeping noise echoed in the large room, empty except for two rows of clean-looking beds. Light shone through the tall windows, illuminating the place with a glow that almost made the cold stone walls feel warm and comforting.

He craved comfort. Something, he knew, had happened. But every time he pushed at the memory, it scooted to another place in his mind, just out of reach. Whatever it was, though, left him with a feeling of cold helplessness, and he soon gave up on retrieving whatever the untouchable bubble of memory held. His mood eased when he didn't chase it.

The beeping stopped, and a shadow dropped over Severus's bed. He jumped, turning with wide eyes and instinctively grabbing for a wand that wasn't there. Finding himself weaponless, he cowered against the pillow behind him, scooting as close to the edge of the bed as he could without falling off.

"Relax," the woman in front of him said, "I'm only here to help. May I perform a few diagnostic spells to assure your health?" She asked the question slowly and calmly, although a slight tremble in her outstretched hand gave away her own fear. She was afraid of him. Why was she afraid of him? What did he do?

Who was he?

The revelation came to him, sucking away all his breath and sending his mind racing in a panic. He had no idea who he was. Fragments of memories spun by: a dark room, a swing set in the cloudy light, a black and grey owl, sparks of light, shattering glass, a glimpse of gorgeous red hair, trusting green eyes, loneliness. None of it made sense as it rushed by.

The woman in front of him spoke again. "Severus, can you hear me?"

Severus. It was familiar. His name? Yes, it must be. He could remember a loud voice hollering it, cringing in the corner as he waited for the owner of the voice to find him and reprimand him for doing something he shouldn't have. He could remember tasting guilt and holding back his quivering fear. He had craved comfort then, too.

"Severus," the woman repeated, concern clouding her face as her patient remained almost completely still, "Severus, can you understand me?" She reached a hand towards him.

He slapped it away on pure instinct. "Don't touch me," he croaked, his throat dry.

She withdrew her hand quickly, rubbing it where it had begun to turn red and sting. Her face had fallen in sadness, but Severus saw a flash of fear, too. His own face softened.

"I'm sorry," he whispered gravelly, "I didn't mean to… Where am I?"

Keeping her distance, she answered, "You're in the Hogwarts infirmary. My name is Madame Pomfrey. You've been asleep here in my care for over twenty-four hours now."

"Hogwarts?" Severus asked, a memory coming in more clearly than before. The black and gray owl had held a letter in its beak. A letter about a school. Hogwarts. The owl had been his mother's, he now remembered, and his father, a spiteful man, hated the beast. Severus, therefore, had loved it.

"Yes, dear. Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Do you… remember anything about this school?" Madame Pomfrey said.

Severus nodded. "I remember a letter. And… a train." He stopped talking, but the memories flooded in. There had been a train, and he had been on it. It was hazy, as if from a dream, but it was there. The red-haired girl had been there, he had met her on a swing set and she was there on the train, too, her bright green eyes sparkling in wonder. And there were those boys… He bristled at the fuzzy memory of them, jabbing at him. Then there was the castle, the grand structure that filled him with hope. He remembered being herded towards it with other kids his age, but couldn't remember anything inside besides the room he sat in currently.

"A letter," Pomfrey repeated quietly. If the boy had memories of being a student, there was no telling what other memories he possessed. "Severus, I promised I'd alert the headmistress when you awoke. Do you need anything while I'm gone?"

He shook his head. "No thank you." As soon as he'd said it, he realized it was a lie. Water would have been wonderful. But he didn't want to change his answer.

Madame Pomfrey accepted his answer. "Alright. I'll be back in just a few minutes."

As soon as she left, Severus got out of bed. He wobbled on his legs, adjusting to them as if they weren't his normal legs. Which was absolutely ridiculous. His clothes, however, also seemed to belong to someone else, someone far larger than he. Although the collar looked to be designed to fit snugly around the neck, it hung down to Severus's collarbones. The black material flowed in waves, engulfing his body and leaving extra fabric to trail behind him as he walked. His arms drowned in the large sleeves they inhabited. He chose not to care that his robes didn't fit.

With a stubborn resolve, he crossed the room and paced back, stretching his muscles and perfecting his walk. His body burned, muscles pulling with a sore ache. He had no idea why he was so sore, but he pushed past it and walked over to where a large pile of books stood stacked behind a bed.

"What?" he whispered at the leather-bound books, his voice straining with the word. He would have to work on that, too. Severus didn't know much about himself, but he did know that he did not show weakness if he could help it.

The books, though, caught his attention. They were not, as he had initially assumed, random titles, but shared a common theme. They all seemed to be centered around age magic, which seemed to Severus like a very strange topic to center on, even for a school focused on the teaching of witchcraft and wizardry. He looked around the empty room, wondering who would have left the books there. Unless they were meant for him.

No, nobody gave Severus gifts but his mother. That, like his aversion to showing weakness, was something that echoed within him as truth.

So he left the books alone and sat back in bed, not wishing to be found snooping by Madame Pomfrey when she came back. Just as he had settled comfortably in, the infirmary doors swung open. Through them marched a contradictory woman, looking so old that he feared she might collapse any moment, but carrying herself with such strength that he doubted he would ever see her stumble, much less collapse. Behind her, Madame Pomfrey trotted to keep up.

"Good morning," the imposing woman greeted as she neared Severus's bed. She spoke kindly, but her voice cracked subtly with emotion. "Severus, how are you feeling?"

He returned her stare for a moment, then dropped his eyes. "Fine, ma'am," he replied.

"I am told you requested not to be touched by our fine medi-witch here," the tall witch said, "Is there a reason for this, may I ask?"

Severus glanced up, then dropped his gaze once more. He shook his head, a pebble of shame at his earlier actions forming in his gut. "No, ma'am."

"Was it, perhaps, just a reaction to awakening in a strange place?"

He nodded, then looked at Madame Pomfrey. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

The younger witch accepted his apology.

"Now," the older witch said, "I believe I have neglected to introduce myself. I am Professor McGonagall, the current headmistress of Hogwarts. I expect you know about Hogwarts."

Severus nodded again. "Yes, ma'am."

"And, Severus, do you know why you're here?" McGonagall asked.

This made Severus pause for a moment before he responded. "I believe, ma'am, I arrived at Hogwarts after receiving my letter, but I do not remember entering the castle. Did… Did something happen that put me in the infirmary?"

"Yes, Mr. Snape," McGonagall replied, a flash of disappointment crossing her face, "You did indeed enter the castle, however, it seems a spell cast in your direction may have rendered you unconscious for an unknown time period before another student found you. Madame Pomfrey has cared for you since then. You don't remember the incident?"

"No," Severus said, "You mean to say… Someone attacked me? Why would someone attack me?"

"Now, Mr. Snape, we have no reason to believe the spell was cast at you intentionally. It could have been a number of different things. Because the spell did not leave any scars or any other form of brandishing itself upon your skin, we cannot say exactly what happened, only that we are glad to see you have made a recovery." McGonagall spoke slowly and deliberately. She did not want to lie to the child that had once been her coworker, but she decided against telling him the entire truth.

The young boy considered this answer, then accepted it and moved on to the question that had pricked at him since waking. "Now what?"

McGonagall had alerted Ron and Harry to the fact that Severus had woken up, but had asked them to leave him be for the time being. After casually questioning the boy to test his memory, she had determined that he knew nothing of his life since the first time he had seen Hogwarts. He knew nothing of Voldemort, nothing of Harry, nothing of anything he had lived through bar a small, muddled portion of his childhood. The headmistress deemed it best if the boy were to rest before being submitted to the auror style of questioning.

Instead, she had asked Severus if he was ready to begin his studies. Not surprisingly, he politely agreed. Madame Pomfrey, however, pulled the headmistress aside, casting a quick muffliato over the door to her office once they were inside.

"Minerva," she said, "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely, Carina. I believe it's best for Severus if he is allowed to begin schooling with children his age."

"But, Minerva," the medi-witch protested, "They are not his age!"

"No, I'm afraid not. But his body and his memories say otherwise. For the time being, I propose we give young Severus a second chance at his life at Hogwarts, one that may allow him to learn and enjoy his life without the difficult choices involved in war that he had to make during his previous, unremembered life."

Madame Pomfrey was not finished, though. "What if his memories return? They are still in there. Would you hide a man from his own memories?"

McGonagall straightened her posture in offense at the suggestion. "Certainly not, Carina. The idea in itself is ridiculous, something no witch who wishes to call herself headmistress would ever consider. If his memories do return to him, as they may, we will do our best to deal with whatever effect it has on Severus."

"With all due respect, Minerva, I think you are making a mistake."

"What else would you have me do, Carina?" McGonagall asked.

A moment of silence passed before Pomfrey spoke again. "I'm not sure."

McGonagall nodded. "I was afraid of that. I have found no better alternative, either, and the aurors have decided to place the decision in my hands rather than turn in Severus to the Ministry."

With a sigh, Madame Pomfrey agreed. "Alright, perhaps this is the best option. I still, however, don't like it."

"I know, Carina," McGonagall said, closing her eyes for a moment to gather herself. She then turned around and, after taking down the muffliato spell, stepped through the door from Pomfrey's office back into the infirmary, facing Severus once more.

"Headmistress," he said politely, "How long do I have to stay in the infirmary?"

McGonagall smiled softly. "I do believe I have some good news for you, Mr. Snape. Your school robes should be arriving shortly, as it seems they were misplaced since you arrived, as will the rest of your belongings. Once they do, I believe you shall be allowed to resume your classes with the other students."

Severus nodded, a small smile crossing his normally serious face. "They've already arrived, ma'am. I put my robes on while you and Madame Pomfrey were talking." He extended his arm to show that his clothes did indeed fit correctly, rather than the overly baggy robes he had on before.

It took McGonagall a moment to figure out why, but something seemed wrong about the robes, besides the fact that they didn't include Severus's normal oversized collar pressed against his neck. The robes were all black and did not belong to any house, which meant, so long as the normal charms were still functioning, the boy did not belong any house, either.

"Wonderful," the headmistress said approvingly, quickly making plans, "If you're ready now, come with me to my office. It's time the sorting hat placed you in your house."

Severus's eyes widened in excitement. "Yes, headmistress," he said, standing up from his bed and reaching under it to grab his trunk.

"Leave that here for now," McGonagall said, "The house elves will take care of it once you've been sorted."

The boy nodded, his black hair gleaming in the light as it bounced ever so slightly. As McGonagall turned and walked away, he obediently followed to her office.

The sorting hat did not seem surprised to be taken off its shelf. It raised a fold of itself in a manner that mimicked an amused eyebrow raise, as near as smirking as an enchanted hat could get. "I'm afraid I haven't prepared a song for the occasion," it said as McGonagall led Severus to a chair, "Unless you would like me to repeat the one from earlier this year."

McGonagall gently grabbed hold of the hat. "I don't believe that will be necessary, although it was a wonderful display of vocabulary and school pride that the students thoroughly enjoyed, as usual."

For his part, Severus managed to keep a straight face, although the sight of a talking hat surprised him more than he would admit. No one had told him that a sentient article of clothing was involved in the sorting process. What was next? Singing socks sorting out his school schedule?

"Severus Snape," McGonagall said, her tone serious. She spoke to the hat, then moved it to hover atop the boy's head. The hat squirmed in her grasp, eager to do its duty, and she lowered it onto the boy's head.

 _'Hmmm, this is an interesting case."_ The hat spoked, but through Severus's mind rather than out loud. McGonagall stood aside and patiently waited and Severus realized that she was not privy to any of the interactions he and the hat were having. He also realized it had begun to gently rummage through his mind and pushed the thought about the singing socks away.

 _"Yes, yes,"_ the hat continued, _"I think I'm beginning to understand. But where to put you? Innocence and experience, hatred and love, ashes and tears. You are a puzzle of a boy, you are."_

Severus raised his eyes to look up at the dusty brown brim of the old hat. "What-"

 _"No need to speak. Thinking will suffice when communicating with headgear."_

With a small nod, Severus tried again, simply thinking his response rather than saying it out loud. _"What do you mean?"_

 _"Your puzzle lies within your mind, and it is, like most mind puzzles, something you must figure out for yourself, or not at all. A little birdie told me your puzzle is perhaps just a little more intriguing than most,"_ the sorting hat said, laughter creeping into its speech.

 _"I don't understand. How can I solve a puzzle if I don't know what the puzzle is?"_ Severus said bitterly.

The hat laughed again. _"The only puzzle either of us have to worry about now is the puzzle of which house is the right fit for you."_

Severus began to sulk, but it was soon lost to the excitement he felt at being sorted into a house. It would be a place he belonged, truly belonged. As much as he wanted to pass it off as a ceremony of unimportance, it was perhaps the most important moment that he could recall.

 _"Now, let's see… Ravenclaw could use your knowledge, but perhaps they dream too much for a mind like yours. Hufflepuff would treat you well, but I can see your loyalty lies not with the badgers. That leaves Slytherin or Gryffindor. Gryffindor or Slytherin. Hmm… Slytherin would be a great fit for your cunning, but the bravery inside you could be allowed to flourish with Gryffindor. Perhaps memories better than silver could be made with red and gold. Yes… Let's put you in…"_

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted triumphantly, making Severus jump. McGonagall, used to the hat's roaring outbursts after years of watching it sort students, took that as her cue to remove the hat from the boy's head and place it gently back on the shelf where it promptly relaxed and drifted into a sleep.

"Gryffindor," McGonagall repeated quietly, very surprised at the choice. The Severus that she had known fit the Slythern house so well that she would never have been able to imagine him anywhere else. Now, she wouldn't be imagining it, but watching it with her own eyes.

Severus did not seem surprised at the choice, merely a little disappointed, although he couldn't understand why. A feeling of dislike for the Gryffindor house stemmed up from his core, but he could think of no logical reason why it should be so. He figured the problem was just the harshness of the name. Gryffindor. What a mouthful.

Coming to terms with his house sorting very quickly, Severus stood up from the chair. Immediately, his robes shimmered around the edges and formed accents of color. A thin stripe of red joined another of gold in lining the openings of his sleeves as well as around the opening of the robe by his feet. His hood lining turned red and on his chest, a small portion transformed into a patch displaying the Gryffindor coat of arms. In its apparent slumber, the hat contorted its folds into a smug grin.

"Well, then," McGonagall said after a moment, "You'll be needing a short tour of the castle next. The Gryffindor prefect should be alerted shortly and will meet you right outside my office. Marius Fawley is his name, and he will be there if you have any questions, as will the entirety of the Hogwarts staff."

"Thank you, professor," Severus said. He took that as his cue to exit and left the office, standing next to the gargoyle outside to wait for Marius, who he sincerely hoped wouldn't take long to arrive.

McGonagall sunk into her desk chair, well-hidden exhaustion allowed to take over her features. She closed her eyes. "I hope you know what you're doing, hat."

The hat swiveled slightly towards Fawkes, a mere phoenix chick. The fiery bird ruffled its ashy feathers and called out a sweet note of approval, its wise eyes boring into the hat's cloth. A secret conversation occurred between the two, one not spoken with words or understood by anything but the two. When it was over, Fawkes hopped off of his perch and, with unsteady baby wings, flew out the office window and into the cloudy skies.


End file.
